Wednesday, July 19, 2017

POEM: An Anti-lamentation

I will tell you the story of my escape, the whole
thing, from start to end, until I am naked.
Starting at the beginning, from the keening that my
captivity evoked, to the dizzying freedom once unshackled.

I bake freedom into the bread that I share. 
I come to the party with both hands open, hiding nothing.
My goal is to let my last days be ones of depletion, where
everything is exhausted, ignoring the urge to lock doors,
until doubt wanes, until it flits and fails, this same doubt
that rides the subways with me, that eats in the same
sandwich shops I do. I am wrong more often than I am right.
It’s just a state of being, like binary one or zero, on or off.
It’s not who I really am. Nor is my body me.  Nor my face.
Nor my bones. Nor my lack of grace. These are ghost stories
once told around a campfire.

I am a mystery, so I better start acting like one! I drop a buck
into a beggar’s cup and push every reason out of my head
why this is a bad idea.  Instead, I give naiveté the keys
to the car, let him drive a while. I can dine with the ridicule.
Mostly, we are wished-upon comets, circling the sun
every two-hundred years, waited for, but barely noticed,
trailing dust in the shape of a smile.

Brother, the lonely roads are the ones worth taking so let’s
walk them for no reason, and barefoot. I want to touch everything,
however transient, to fill the warp and woof of a life
with a generous urge. In the dark space between atoms is

where God awaits my choice in anticipation.


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